


Play Along

by brightlycoloredteacups



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlycoloredteacups/pseuds/brightlycoloredteacups
Summary: You've been the object of Ivar's desires for some time now. He finally decides to show you just how much he loves you...by locking you in the basement.





	1. Play Along

 Ivar stares at the glossy pictures in front of him. He’s trying to gather courage for tonight, and looking at your beautiful, smiling face gives him that courage. There are many pictures of you in the binder. He has them categorized by type, then by date. Of course, he has his favorites that he wants to put at the very front, but he must have order too.

           At the very front of the binder are the ones of you bent over a book, a few strands of your hair falling randomly. You suck in the corner of your mouth when you read. It makes it look like you’re concentrating. Then, after that section, it’s the pictures of you enjoying the feeling of the sun. You like being outdoors, surrounded by flowers and nature. You always cock your head back and make a little humming noise when it’s warm. After that is the section with all the pictures he’s taken of you smiling. You have a dazzling smile, one that makes the bridge of your nose crinkle. At the end of the binder are all the pictures of you sleeping. It’s mostly classroom pictures, or library pictures. You’re mouth always hangs slightly open.

           Most of the pictures’ he’s taken of you have been when you weren’t looking. But there’s another binder, one that’s the most precious to him. It’s of all the pictures you’ve allowed him to take of you. One where you’re looking at the camera, at him. You’re smiling at him, taking notice of him. Through those pictures he can feel the love you have for him. He knows it’s there, you just have to be reminded of it, that’s all.

           There’s also a box he keeps. It’s full of things you’ve given him over the course of your friendship. Gum wrappers and candy wrappers, stupid little drawings and notes, tickets to movies and theme parks, the flowers you personally picked for him your very first valentine’s day together. He had them dried and pressed, then laminated the papers so he could keep it forever. There’s even a string left over from a candy necklace you shared with him in elementary school.

           He swipes a finger along your jaw. Tonight, was the night. Nearly a year of planning and things would come to fruition. He was worried you wouldn’t like the surprise he set up for you. How else would you realize the depth of his love for you though? How else would you come to love him, in turn? It was the only way you two could be together.

* * *

           You awaken, feeling a little fuzzy. It was Saturday, family dinner night. Ivar joined you, as he always did on Saturdays. You had just finished with a slice of cake he brought for dinner. Your vision had started to swim, your family passed out around you. The last thing you saw was Ivar, sitting above you, looking half crazed.

           You sit up in the bed, looking around. The lights were off, so there wasn’t much to take in. Your heart began to hammer in your chest. Ivar had kidnapped you. Ivar, the sweet little kid who had trouble walking, the one you’d known since he moved in across the street when you were five. The one who’d been there for every milestone in your life. That Ivar had kidnapped, and now he was going to kill you.

           You swing your legs from underneath the covers and get up. You always had an inkling that Ivar was disturbed. It’s the way he talked sometimes, about killing people. When he really got riled up, he would go into detail. It was violent and never anything you wanted to hear. You always shut him down quickly when he got like that, then things would be normal again. You could go back to pretending Ivar was just some sweet kid who lived across the street. You gulped, you were one of the people he wanted to torture.

           You’re just starting to cry when the lights turn on. You whimper and throw your hands over your eyes. “You’re awake!” You hear Ivar’s excited voice. Once your vision has adjusted to the sudden brightness you’re able to take everything in. The room you’re in is much, much larger than you anticipated. It was more like a basement.

           You look anywhere but him. It’s almost like the dream house you described to him. The nice living room, the kitchen with the well-lit breakfast nook. The reading area with a sturdy desk in the center. The area you were in, most obviously the bedroom, was caged. Ivar was looking at you with a smile on his face through the bars. “Do you like it?” He asks hopefully. “It took forever to get the things you wanted, I still don’t think it’s right, but I tried. I can change anything you don’t like about it.”

“Why am I here?” you ask him, backing away to a wall. “Ivar, why is this happening?” You begin to sob, holding yourself.

“Well,” He says, looking a little sheepish. “Well, because we’re supposed to be together.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “People who are supposed to be together don’t kidnap each other and put them in cages.”

“You won’t be in here for long.” He tells you. “Just until I can trust you.”

“I shouldn’t be in here at all!” You yell. “Ivar, let me out!” He sighs. “Is it the bedsheets?”

“What?”

“You’re upset because the bedsheets are the wrong color, aren’t you? I didn’t know what shade of blue you liked, so I got a lighter shade.”

“Ivar! You fucking maniac, let me out!” You rush the bars. He looks startled and limps backwards, out of reach. You scream as loud as you can and bang the bars with the palm of your hands. “Enough!” Ivar bellows. You immediately stop, there’s a crazed look to him that tells you you’d better listen. “We will have none of that. No one can hear you anyway. You’re in a basement after all.”

           You whimper, he must have been planning this for a long time now. “Ivar,” you say, sniffling. His face melts and he presses his forehead against the bars. Reaching through them, he strokes your cheek. You let out another sob and jerk away. “Hush, my love,” he whispers. “You know it breaks my heart when you cry.”

“Well, I’m scared Ivar, you’re scaring me.” Maybe if you tug at his heart strings, he’d let you out and then you’d be able to escape. “There’s no need to be afraid.” He says. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you.” You snap. “You drugged me, and you kidnapped me.” You sit on the floor and draw your knees up to chest, burying your face and crying freely. “Oh, please don’t cry.” He says, actually sounding upset at your state. “I love you, I promise. I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I’d die for you, I’d kill for you.”

“Go away!” You shout. “I don’t want to see your stupid face anymore you fucking psycho!” He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you cry into your arms. Eventually, he leaves. It takes you some time to calm down. When you do, you realize that the only way you’re going to survive this hell was if you played along.  


	2. Be Strong

Ivar reminded himself to be strong. There were critical days ahead. He had to keep in mind the delicate state you were in. It must be an incredible nuisance to be cooped up, so far away from the sun, your friends, and your family. Maybe one day he’d be able to let you see them, for right now though, it was just the two of you.

He enjoyed taking care of you much less than he thought he would. It wasn’t that you were needy, he’d like it very much if you were needier. No, it wasn’t you at all, it was the cage that separated you. Ivar wanted to touch you, feel your skin on his. He wanted your head to rest on his shoulder, he wanted to lie beside you at night, enjoying the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He wanted to share the same space as you so badly he cried with the need. Be strong, he’d remind himself, be strong now, and you’ll be able to be weak later.

Ivar knew you’d accept him at his weakest. You already had. Ever since you were children he would come to you and lay his head in your lap when he was in pain. You’d stroke his hair and sing whatever song was stuck in your head. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost feel you there with him, despite your presence in his basement.

He comes back to reality when the kettle begins to scream at him. Taking it off the heat, he starts to set up your breakfast tray. You liked tea just as much as coffee, so he tried to alternate between the two. You’d been with him for an entire week. Seven days he got to keep you, visit you.

Gathering everything, he makes his way slowly to the basement. It’s hard, seeing as he can’t walk very well. And sometimes, by the time he gets there, everything on the tray is knocked over, but he knows you understand he’d trying his best. You appreciate the effort, he’s sure of it. Why else would you eat everything he gives you? You’re trying, and he likes that you’re trying.

This morning he is triumphant. He manages to make it down to the basement without a single utensil out of place. His skin tingles as you watch him. It exhilarating to know he has your undivided attention. Did you think he was handsome? Cute? Both? Neither? He tried to keep up appearances for you. He could do nothing about his legs, but the rest of him he could work on.

He’d done thousands, hundreds of thousands of sit ups, modified pushups, arms curls. Whatever he could do to chisel out something you could be proud of. He kept his hair a little longer than he liked for you. He made sure to wash it, and comb it so it didn’t look greasy. He kept his nails short and neat and made sure to dress sharply. And in all the colors you liked, even if he didn’t like them. If you noticed, you hadn’t told him, but maybe you were just too scared to ruin your friendship.

He stops in front of the bars, giving you his best, reassuring smile. “You didn’t spill anything today,” you note. “You’re getting better at that.” He beams at you. You are taking notice! He places the tray in the food slot, humming happily to himself. You don’t take it right away like you usually do. He frowns and studies you closely. You look haggard this morning, like you haven’t slept very much last night. It’s the television you’re paying attention to this morning.

It’s a news story. Your face is on the screen. A happy one of you at a recent birthday party. He turns back to you, distressed. You don’t look upset about the news story, angry more than anything. “Ivar?” You whisper. “Yes, my love?” He asks, gripping the bars of the cage and pressing his forehead to one. “Why aren’t the police investigating you?”

“I staged my own poisoning.” He explains. “They think I’m a victim too. They investigated the bag boy for the cake, but they don’t have any leads.” You let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Of course you thought of everything. You were always brilliant.” You shut the television off and throw the remote on the bed.

You take the cup out of the tray and drink from it. “It’s good,” you mutter. “Thank you.” Ivar watches intently as you drink, as he has every day for the past week. He wonders if one day you’ll let him feed you.

His normal routine if watching you is interrupted by the doorbell ringing. The only reason he hears it is because he’s left the basement door open. He watches you look up, alert and ready. He squeezes the bars to your cage so tight his knuckles turn white. “Don’t scream.” He begs you. “You’re only going make your throat sore, and I don’t want that for you.”

You don’t heed is word. You drop the cup to the ground and start banging on the bars, screaming. “Help me! Please! Help me!” Ivar is so shocked he backs up a few steps. The longer he waits, the more frantic you get. “Help me! This maniac has me trapped! Please, please help me!” He tries to calm you, shushing you gently. Really, there’s no reason for you to act like an animal, no one is going to hurt you.

When he sees that he isn’t going to be able to quiet you, he sighs heavily and leaves, making sure to lock the basement door behind him. It drowns out your noise effectively. Pressing his forehead to the cool metal of the basement door he has to wonder; what was he doing wrong? Were you really that upset over the sheets? Did you not like breakfast?

The doorbell rings again and he groans. Maybe it was his cooking. He wasn’t the best at it, but after a year of practice he thought he improved quite a bit. The first time he tried to make eggs and bacon had been a complete disaster.

Resolving to go get lunch for you, rather than cook it, Ivar headed to the door. Opening it, he’s surprised to see a girl with a plate of cookies. She gives him a bright smile and lifts the plate. “I’m Angela,” she says. “I’m new to the neighborhood.”

Ivar looks at her quizzically. “Hello,” He mutters, not sure what to do. He’s never had anyone come up to him willingly and start a conversation. Angela’s smile drops when he’s quiet for a long time. “Uh, what’s your name?” She asks him. “Ivar,” He mutters, he wants this to end already and get back to you. “Well, Ivar, I’m your new neighbor, it’s nice to meet you.” She shoves the plate of cookies towards him. He takes them and mumbles a thank you before closing the door in her face, making sure to lock it. Some people clearly didn’t understand the meaning of ‘intrusion’. 

He sets the plate of cookies down on the kitchen counter. He debates on whether he should return to the basement, ultimately deciding not to. He understands, you just need your space Really, giving you a week to adjust was too little time, you’d obviously need more than a week. You were stubborn like that. He hoped you’d get adjusted soon though, he doesn’t know how long he can go without touching you. Be strong, he reminds himself. Be strong.


	3. Let's Eat

You pace back and forth, feeling liked a caged animal. Hell, you  _were_  a caged animal. It was driving you insane, making it hard to play along with whatever sick and twisted game Ivar had planned. This morning you had completely lost it when the doorbell rang. You couldn’t help it; the ringing had sounded like salvation to you.

           Previously, Ivar showed no signs of being crazy, but just before he turned to go back up the steps, something had flashed behind his eyes, something visceral and terrifying. Once he had shut the door, giving you time to calm down, you realized that maybe he might just have it in him to kill you. You spent nearly an hour crying, after a week of your emotions swinging from one end of the spectrum to another, it left you more drained than you could ever remember being.

            You can do nothing but lie on the bed, feeling defeated. Starting at the mural Ivar painted on the wall, one of a forest during the winter time, you know there’s no way in hell you’ll escape anytime soon, but perhaps you can bargain with him. Trade him something for an hour in the sun. You needed to feel the warmth of it on your skin, feel the grass between your toes, hear the birds chirp, have the wind rustle through your hair. You were not a woman meant to be caged.

           Disgust rises within you; how can you even think of giving in so early? It’s only been a week, and here you are, ready to trade time outside with favors. You flop over on your back. It was only a matter of time though, wasn’t it? Before Ivar began asking you to do things. You feel a wave of nausea overcome you, thinking of all the things he’d ask of you. You don’t think you could touch him. You wouldn’t be convincing. You had to be convincing though, your life depended on it.

* * *

           Ivar was waiting for his order, excited to surprise you with lunch. He went all out, ordering your regular, along with a dessert. Food always put you in a better mood. Maybe he could have a conversation with you that wasn’t one sided. He planned to set everything up in the breakfast nook. There was a light behind the window he rigged up. It gave the illusion of the sun filtering in through curtains, you’d love that, he had no doubts.

           He knows your crankiness isn’t just his cooking, it has to be how long you’ve been caged up. To be kept away from your blessed sun for so long now, you must be dying on the outside. Initially, he wanted to give you some sort of window so you could see the sun, but he decided that was ultimately too dangerous.  

           He’s trying to figure out how to replicate sun rays when he’s pulled from his thoughts. “Hey neighbor!” He grunts when someone lightly punches him in the shoulder. He looks to see a girl smiling at him. “Uh, hi.” He says. He recognizes the woman, but can’t remember her name. “Well?” she asks, rocking back and forth on her tiptoes. He’s confused, had she been talking to him this whole time and he just wasn’t paying attention? It had happened before, when he thought about you, it was an all-consuming process. “Did you like the cookies?” She asks. “Uh, oh, I haven’t given them a try yet.” He admits. They were still sitting on his kitchen table.

           Her face drops, “oh,” She says quietly. Ivar turns back to wait for his food. “So, this place is pretty nice,” the girl continues. “Yes,” Ivar admits. “I come here with my best friend all the time.” He has to remind himself that you aren’t his girlfriend yet, but you would be, it wouldn’t be long now. “Oh wow, that’s pretty cool. We should all go out together some time.”

“Can’t.” Ivar mutters, really wishing the woman would leave him alone. He also wished you were here. You were a social butterfly, and deflected conversations from him with practiced ease. “Why not?” She doesn’t get an answer; Ivar’s order is called and he rushes to gather it. He doesn’t even respond to her goodbye comment.

           The restaurant is a short walking distance from the house. Despite that, his legs are killing him by the time he shuts and locks his door. Going up and down stairs are the worst, putting pressure on his knees makes him want to weep some days. Today, he braves those steps for you.

           You’re lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. You haven’t changed from your nightgown, so he can see a great deal of your legs. He has to bring his lip in between his teeth to keep from groaning. One of the many places he wants to get to know intimately is your legs. They were beautiful to him, perfectly curved, always smooth. He must admit to himself there were many nights he dreamed about those legs wrapping around his waist as he made love to you.

           He ignored the ache in his groin and began to set up the table. He hears you call his name. Looking over to you, he makes sure to smile. He wants you to feel safe at least. “What are you doing?” You ask him, grasping the bars. “I went for lunch,” he explains, trying to be cheerful for you, his legs can’t take much more standing. “I got all your favorites.”

“Alright, but my food thing is over here,” You explain, as if he didn’t know. “Why are you setting everything up on the table?” He doesn’t answer you, just flashes you another grin. “Ivar, are you really going to sit there and eat all of that in front of me?”

“No silly,” He chuckles. “I’d never be that cruel, I know how you feel about food.”

“You’re going to let me out of this thing?” You whisper, the look of utter hope on your face nearly tears his heart in two. “Yes,” He says, finishing the set up. “You aren’t afraid I’ll escape?”

“Of course I’m afraid you’ll leave me.” Ivar walks over to the cage door and looks at you. “Which is why I put a lock on the upper door. It has a code only I know.” You huff, but say nothing. He opens the door and you come flying out. He tenses, waiting for you to try the door, pleased when you don’t. You simply do a little twirl and giggle. That’s more like the love of his life.

           You do something that surprises him entirely. You throw your arms around him, squeezing tightly. “Thank you,” You whisper. “I was dying in there.” He wraps his arms around you, not believing how close you were after all this time. You disentangle yourself from him quickly, brushing yourself off as though he has germs. Ivar doesn’t take much notice.

           He leads you over to the table and sits you down. It’s the chair closest to the backlit fake window. He turns it on for you, watching lovingly as your face lights up in awe. “That’s impressive,” You mutter, pressing your hand against it. He smiles and grabs your hand, pleased that you don’t immediately move away. “Let’s eat,” He says.


	4. Photo

  It had been a full month since your capture. Ivar found you more compliant. As a result, he let you out of your cage more often. However, you had yet to see your precious sun. You stopped asking to be release, instead, you focused on conversation. Your willing engagement seemed to net you rewards. It was a waiting game for you, at just the right moment you’ll escape and be free of this madness.  

It seemed you played your part of complacency so well, he was letting you out of the basement entirely. He had come to you early that morning, a camera around his neck, smiling. It had a strange disconnect this morning, didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I figured we’d do something fun today,” He tells you, opening the caged up. He leads you to the top of the basement. “You’re letting me out?” You say, wanting to cry with relief. “Only for a few hours,” he tells you, looking apologetic.

He continues on to lead you up to his room, you want to go slowly, to try an observe the house, but he pushes you onward, clearly excited about today. So far, Ivar hadn’t been too creepy with you. He had kept his hands to himself, given you your space, but as he opened the door to his room, you found out the expression ‘shivers down your spine’ was an actual thing. Everywhere you turned, there you were. Ivar bedroom was entirely plastered in pictures of you. It wasn’t just the walls, it was the dresser tops too, the small desk shoved against a window, there wasn’t a surface that didn’t have you, smiling on it.

           The closer you look, the more horrified you became. These are all intimate pictures, taken without permission, just like you were taken. Some of them border on risqué, but there isn’t a nude in sight. “Do you like them?” Ivar whispered in your ear, you jump, turning to him. “I always enjoyed photography. You were always my favorite subject.” He reaches a hand out to you, but you back away. His face is so full of love, it’s sickening.  “I hate them,” You say. His smile immediately drops.

“The ones with my family,” You quickly ammend, “You know I never got along with my mother.” Ivar’s face takes on a look of relief. “Yes, I remember, I’ll remove them when we’re through.”

“Through with what,” The question is quiet. You’re in Ivar’s bedroom, with no way out. Your eyes dip down to the camera. “Yes,” He says, excitedly. “We’re going to have a photoshoot.” He ushers you to his bed to sit on. You feel sick, as he rummages through his closet. You don’t want to do this, but you can’t say no, you need to play this game to survive. You’re just about to start undressing when Ivar makes a pleased noise, pulling a dress from his closet. “Here,” He says, handing it to you. It’s a deep red color, simple in design. “Where did you even get this thing?” You ask him. “I made it,” he explained excitedly. “I have tons of them for you,”

“You know how to sew?” You ask, holding the dress out in front of you. You can tell it’s going to fit your body perfectly. “I learned,” He says, turning back to his closet, “For you, I had a dream once, you married me in that dress. I had to make it, to see you in it at least once in real life.” He turns around and brings out a pair of shoes. They match the shade of the dress perfectly.

           “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” He tells you, handing you the shoes. “When you’re ready come down stairs. And don’t-”

“If I wanted to try and escape Ivar,” You cut him off, knowing where this was going. “I would’ve tried already.” He seems placated by your answer. He was apparently so emboldened that he leans down to kiss your cheek, it’s so sudden you don’t have time to move away. Your skin crawls as he pulls back. “I love you.” He mutters. You don’t dare respond.

           He eventually leaves you to get dressed. You take your time, poking through all the pictures he has of you. Looking at them all, you could see a timeline of your life start to appear, your freshmen year of high school, sophomore, junior, senior, college. You look at them so long you feel yourself being to go insane.

           You run from Ivar’s room and slam the door shut behind you. You’re terrified of Ivar now more than ever. Until now, you’d hoped that maybe Ivar had been raised wrong, that the sweet boy, your best friend, really just didn’t know any better. But someone who put such an obvious amount of time obsessing over something is not sane. You hear Ivar call your name, concerned with the noise. “Yes?” You respond, not wanting to arouse his suspicion. “Is everything alright? You’re taking an awful long time.” You will your feet to move. Step by agonizing step you manage to make it to the staircase. “I’m sorry, I just,” You gulp, forcing yourself to calm down. “I just wanted to look nice for you,” You lie.

           Ivar appears at the landing, his entire face lit up by the smile. “You always look beautiful,” He tells you. The look he wears as you descend is sickening, you want more than ever to just bolt for the door. He reaches for you again, instead of kissing you, he adjusts the straps of the dress. It’s an excuse to touch you. When he’s finished fidgeting, he rests his hands on your shoulders. “You look just like my dream,” He whispers. “Well, almost,” He grabs your hand, leads you to the living room before you can even ask what he meant.

           The entrance to the basement is through the kitchen, so when you’re lead to the sitting room, you’re surprised to see how normal it looks. It’s all so clean, not a speck of dust anywhere. Ivar leads you to the couch, then brings a tray over to you. “Make-up?” You say. This smile is sheepish. “Yes,” He says. “The lighting will make you look a little odd if I don’t at least powder your nose.” He pulls up a chair in front of you begins working. As he works, he talks, “I’ve always wanted to do this.” He whispers, giggling at the confession.

           Somehow, you find it in you to hold up your side of the conversation. “Why?” It comes out a little too loudly for your liking. “It seemed such an intimate thing to do. There’s a lot I want to do for you. Dress you, bathe you, rub your back after a long day.” You don’t say anything, too busy trying not to freak out. He falls silent, intent on his work. He looks so serene sitting there, focused on his task. Every once and a while, his eye with snap to yours. Such sweet baby blues he has.

           “I always liked touching you,” he continues. “Your skin is so soft.”

“Moisturizer.” You tell him. He chuckles. When his breath washes over yours, you breathe in hints of mint. “I know, you were always fond of smelling like roses.” He winces, “I can’t find the lotion you use though, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright Ivar, you don’t have to try so hard.” His grip becomes painful. “Yes, I do,” He hisses. “I do or it isn’t perfect.” Tears spring to your eyes, there’s crazy Ivar. “You’re hurting me,” You whimper, grabbing onto his wrist. He immediately loosens his grip. “Oh, oh I’m sorry. I’m so sorry love,” He puts his tool down and cups your face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, don’t be afraid. Please don’t be afraid? How can I make it up to you?”

“Kiss me,” You say, the moment it’s out of your mouth you regret it. Getting close to Ivar is dangerous. Sell the fantasy, you tell yourself, just sell the fantasy. Ivar leans back from you, getting a good look at your face. He wants to know if you’re lying to him or not. You will him to believe.  

           Ivar’s thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, the look in his eyes is pathetically hopeful. “Please?” You urge, putting your hands on his knees. He jumps at the contact. You remember Ivar doesn’t like his legs being touched, but maybe if you pretended you didn’t care about his legs he’d be more susceptible to your deceptions. Ivar decides you actually want this kiss.

           The brush of his lips is soft, brief. He pulls back almost immediately, as though you’ve burned him. “Ivar?” You ask, “Let’s get on with it,” he mutters, turning back to the tray. You don’t push him, too afraid of what he’d do. He’s still gentle with you, but he’s hurried. When he’s done, he throws down the brush and scurries away from you as fast as possible.

           You watch him as he fiddles with the camera’s settings. It takes a long while, which is odd, because Ivar knows his camera inside out. Had you really unnerved him with just a tiny kiss? You grit your teeth, trying to figure it out, did he want to kiss you, or did he just want a fantasy? Did kissing him make it too real? Was Ivar capable of killing you?

           You watch as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He turns to you, characteristic smile on his face once again. “Alright, are you ready?” He asks. You try and smile back, “Sure,” You say. “Where do you want me?”

           It’s sickening how well Ivar has everything planned, he gives you orders off the top of his head. You try not to think about all the fantasies he has of you. The more you think, the more disgusting your thoughts become. He puts you on the couch first, wanting to capture the first rays of light for the day. Then he takes you to the kitchen, then back to the living room, there isn’t a room he doesn’t take a photo of you in. He makes little adjustments, and barely talks to you. You worry that Ivar has come to love his snapshots of you more than he loves you, that might pose a problem later.

           You don’t dare try to talk to him. You’re too frightened, and too busy. Trying to memorize the layout of his house was difficult when you could only focus on the camera. This was on top of the fact that you kept moving from room to room. You found out Ivar had a lot more space that you realized. The living room is large, looking ready to entertain guests as a moment’s notice, a baby grand right in the middle. The dining room is also large, and well put together. A wooden dining table of a beautiful dark grained wood took up most of the space. It had matching chairs, a nice table runner, and placemats. The kitchen is no less dazzling, with state of the art appliances, granite countertop, and an island with a second, albeit smaller stove.

           Ivar is lining up a shot near the stairs when his front door bangs open, you both jump. For a moment, you think you’re rescued, the cops have figured him out and you’re free of this hell. You try and rush past him, but he grabs you, pulling you towards him. You don’t bother struggling, freedom just seconds away. It isn’t until you hear, “Ivar! It’s your father!” That your heart drops into your stomach.


	5. Visitor

You and Ivar cling to each other as if your life depends on it, probably for different reasons. There’s no way Ivar can get you back in the basement in time. There’s no way of knowing how crazy Ivar’s father is. “Ivar,” You tell him, clawing at his shirt. “Ivar, you can’t let him take me from you,” You say. “What?” He asks, confused. “You can’t let him take me from you, I don’t want to go with him.”

“Hush,” He says, wondering where the hell it’s all coming from. “Hush, I’m not going to let anyone take you from me,” You’re too terrified to fully process the implications of that statement. “You promise?” You ask, clutching at his shirt. He brings your face into his hands. “I promise,” This time, he leans down and kisses you. It isn’t like the first kiss, quick and barely there. It’s a true kiss, with strength and passion behind it. It’s warm and loving. When he pulls back at the sound of his father’s footsteps, you’re breathless, and you regret that it’s another kiss that’s ended too soon. It leaves you feeling sick with how much you enjoyed it.

           “Ivar there’s a woman who-” The man stops, looking at you and Ivar, clutched in each other’s arms. “Who is this?” the man asks, obviously pleased. Ivar struggles for words, looking at you for help. You let out a nervous chuckle. The man in front of you is terrifying. There’s a crazed look in his eye and tattoos on his head, his beard is long and wild. Even so, he looks powerful, powerful enough to kill. “I’m Ivar’s girlfriend,” You say, reaching out a hand. Ivar lets you out of the circle of his arms, more in shock than anything.

           Mr. Lothbrok looks at Ivar, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Really? Ivar didn’t tell anyone about you. You would’ve thought he’d call his mother.” The next look Mr. Lothbrok gave him was pointed. “It’s recent,” Ivar said, dragging you back to his side. “Very recent. Happened today in fact.” You look at him. His face his drawn, but he can’t hide a smile. Oh God, he thought you were being serious when you said you were his girlfriend. That was something you would have to deal with later.

           “Oh, well, I’m Ragnar, Ivar’s father.” Effortlessly, Ragnar situates himself between you and Ivar and maneuvers you to the living room. “There’s a girl outside waiting to talk to you,” Ragnar calls over his shoulder. “Now tell me all about yourself.” Ragnar says, sitting you on the couch. He sits impossibly close to you, arm never leaving your shoulders. You watch, panicked, as Ivar leaves you to your fate. He sends you an apologetic look.

           Growing up, Ragnar hadn’t been around. Only Aslaug and her other three sons, occasionally they’d get a visit from Ivar’s eldest brother, but you’d never met him. Apparently, just before Aslaug moved, gifting the house to Ivar, Ragnar had showed up and wanted to be part of their lives again. You try and make yourself sound as unappealing to Ragnar as possible. If there was a parent Ivar got his insanity from, it had to be this great bear of a man.

           “And tell me,” Ragnar says, interrupting your long, hopefully boring monologue. “Why are you with my son?”

“What?” You say, not sure how to respond to such a question. “Why are you with my son?” Ragnar repeats. “He’s never told me about you.”

           You don’t know what it is, maybe the insinuating tone, maybe the look, most likely the stress of being locked up for weeks. Ivar had been your good friend for many years, a sweet boy you felt very protective of. Apparently, the need to defend your friend-turned0kidnapper was still a strong instinct. It came out as you slapped Ragnar’s hand off your shoulders. “I don’t appreciate the question,” You snap. “You haven’t been a part of Ivar’s life very much, I have. You have no right to even question me.” You watch Ragnar’s jaw roll, for one terrifying moment, you think he’s going to lash out and hit you.

           “I’m sorry,” Ivar says, limping back in. “I don’t know why she keeps coming over.” He’s at your side immediately. “I don’t know why you’re over here either.” He’s glaring at his father. “Can’t a man talk to his son?” Ragnar asks, forgetting about you. You breathe a little easier now.

“I’ll leave you to it,” You say, trying to work your way around Ivar. He grabs your forearms. “I’ll be in my room,” You tell him, chancing another kiss. This third one is brief, but he does kiss you back. As you walk down the stairs to the basement, you think about your escape plan. Ivar isn’t there to lock you up, he isn’t there to watch you, you can simply slip right out the door. He’s distracted, no doubt with his father being here. You didn’t know much about Ragnar, you just knew Ivar both hated and loved him.

           You sit on the bed, scrubbing at your eyes, not caring about the makeup smearing. You fling yourself back, groaning. You kissed Ivar. You defended him. You called yourself his girlfriend. What the hell was going on with you? Rolling over on your side, you begin to cry. This isn’t how you were supposed to fall in love.


End file.
